


Meet me in the woods

by Quyinn



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series), The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxious David (Camp Camp), Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Dryad Jaskier | Dandelion, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff without Plot, Geralt is a good friend, Geralt z Rivia | Geralt of Rivia is Good With Kids, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Gwen is So Done (Camp Camp), Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Sings, M/M, Max is an adult, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Possessive Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Self-Indulgent, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quyinn/pseuds/Quyinn
Summary: A summer camp, piggy back rides, campfire stories and marshmallowsAKA the Camp Camp crossover fic (n)one of you asked for!
Relationships: David/Max (Camp Camp), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Meet me in the woods

**Author's Note:**

> okay this is just pure fluff and an excuse for geralt to be soft and have friends  
> and i love non-human jaskier so here we are

“It’s so great to see you again!”

Geralt grunts as lanky arms wrap around his shoulders. The smell of peppermint and smoke assaults his nose as he sighs.

“You too, David. You look well. Where’s Max?” The red head backs off, hands on his hip. His mouth is stretched in a wide grin, eyes bright and his freckles stand out against the sunburn on his cheeks.

“Broke his leg a few days ago. He thought it would be fun to fall out of a tree.” David scrunches up his nose. “Gwen and I have been holding down the fort but we were so relieved to see your name on Ciri’s form this year. You’ve gotten so pale! What if you burn up? We’ve missed having you here!” 

“You forget your sunblock.” Geralt readjusts the bag on his shoulder. David pauses his excited chatter and touches around his nose, wincing where the skin is peeling a little. 

“Oh, shoot! Max always reminds me.” He grins sadly, arms spreading wide. “Anyway, welcome back to Camp Camp!” 

Geralt follows him up the path towards the mess hall, boots kicking up dust. There were a handful of kids sat at one picnic table with dried macaroni and paint splattered over themselves. The flag is new,  _ Camp Camp _ painted on with a questionable fireplace, all smears of yellow and red.

“The kids made that when I got full ownership!” David chats happily, pointing up at the flag. “Come on, we made you up a bed.” Geralt hums as they pass by the bright red mess hall. 

“You look like you’re doing well up here.” There’s no peeling paint, or choppily mowed grass. There isn't the tiredness that hung around David’s eyes, almost no stress and anxiety in his narrow frame. 

“It’s been a good few years.” David smiles, eyes bright. 

He opens the door to the counsellors cabin, leaving the door propped open. The main room has two comfy looking sofas gathered around a coffee table. There's a wall of old and new books, and another of dvd cases. A small tv is settled in the corner of the room on a set of draws. In the back corner next to the bathroom door is a double bed, with heavy curtains hanging down from its four posts. 

“That door on the left is Gwen’s room, the one straight ahead is the bathroom.” David points with one hand as he cracks open a window. Geralt settles his bag on the single bed by the front door. 

“I’m sorry it’s not much.” David’s freckled cheeks were flushed, fiddling with his neckerchief.

“It’s much better than last time I was here. You even kept my copy of  _ Frankenstein _ .” Geralt settles a hand on his shoulder, nodding towards the bookshelf. “Stop fretting, Mother Hen.” He chuckles, David leaning into him a little.

“I know Gwen is trying her best, but it’s difficult without Max.” Geralt hums.

“I’ll stick around until his leg’s healed. When does he get back?”

“He can come home the day after tomorrow.” Geralt nods, rubbing David’s arm. 

“Where the kids at?” 

“You know what they’re like. Gwen had them in the mess hall doing some crafts but they were getting restless. Maybe we can do a big game of hide and seek?” David sighs, picking at his nails. 

“I’ll go tell Gwen. Take your time.” Geralt squeezes his arm before releasing him and heading down the beaten path to the mess hall. 

“Thank you again, Geralt!” David calls after him. 

He doesn’t respond, shaking his head a little. David never really grew out of his nerves, he can’t imagine what it’s been like for Gwen to deal with him without Max. 

Even before he gets his hand on the door handle, he can hear Gwen shout, high screaming bouncing off the walls of the hall. Bracing himself with a sigh, he pushes the doors to the mess hall open. 

The room is split in two by a wide stripe of masking tape, the long benches turned on their sides. Kids are ducked beneath the sturdy tables. There are chopsticks and rubber band catapults set up on the table on one side, dried macaroni and scrunched newspaper in piles ready to be loaded. A rope is tied to one of the support beams, another on the fastening of the ceiling fan.

“Geralt! You came!” Gwen grins at him from under a table. She has a bandanna over her head, tied messily under her ponytail. 

Ciri grabs his hand, pulling him down with them. He ducks under the table, knees bent under him. She slides over a crudely drawn plan of attack, poking at it with a chopstick.

“We’re at war! The Blackbeard's have attacked and are trying to take over. We have enough firepower to take out at least half of their command. But we need to hurry!” Ciri cries as a wave of orange macaroni showers down on their table. 

“Man the cannons!” Gwen shouts. Four kids, paper hats covering half of their faces pop up and ping small balls of newspaper over to the other side. Soon Geralt is noticed by the other side. 

“They’ve called for back up- this our last chance!” One of the girls scream from behind her own bench, her hat barely held together. 

“They’ve got bundles! We’re done for!” Ciri grabs Gwen’s shoulder. 

“Not yet, we’re not!”

“No, Captain! You can’t be serious. It’s suicide!” There are tears in Ciri’s eyes. A dark haired boy clutches at Gwen’s knees as she tries to shuffle out from under the table. 

“It’s the only way!” Gwen shouts, batting their hands away. She straightens her hat, scooping up fallen macaroni in her hands. “You know what to do.” Ciri nods solemnly. 

“You won’t die in vain.” She squeezes Gwen’s hand before wiping her face. “Pull your weight, matey!” Ciri barks at Geralt, filling his hands with newspaper balls. 

“Aye, Cap’n.” Geralt nods sharply at her. 

Gwen vaults over the top of their deck, feet hitting the table top hard as she grabs the rope hanging from the beams in the ceiling. She kicks her legs out, crossing the gap. Her boot catches on one of the protective benches and yanks it out of place.

“Now!” She screams, the other side pelting her with macaroni and scrunched up paper balls from rushed slingshots. Geralt and the others hurl their projectiles, watching each kid go down in theatrics.

“No!” Ciri jumps up onto the table beside Gwen. Her knees are barely on the edge of the table, her body weight supported by the rope. Geralt helps guide down, laying her on her side, her indigo eyes closed. 

“Victory is ours!” Ciri wails, one angry fist rising above her head. Her other hand cradles Gwen’s face, her cheeks wet. Geralt smooths down her paper hat as she brushes Gwen’s hair from her face. 

“Captain, your men are injured. We need to get them to a medic.” He tells her, hand on her shoulder. 

“Peter!” Ciri turns to her deckhands. “Search for survivors. Get Brick to help the medic.” 

“Yes, Captain!” A brunet lad salutes and goes over to the other side, checking over each of his friends. 

“David will be here in a few.” Geralt brushes some macaroni off Gwen’s shirt. Smears of orange paint cling to his skin and the dark green of her shirt. “Come on.” He gets to his feet with a grunt. He nudges her knee with his boot until she relents, cracking an eye open. Geralt grabs her outstretched hand and pulls her to her feet. 

“Okay, crew, listen up!” Gwen claps her hands. “We gotta clean up here and then Geralt and David will take you to the woods, line you up and shoot you.” 

“Just the survivors or all of us?” Peter asks, an armful of newspaper balls. 

“All of you.” Gwen says cheerily. 

“We’re not actually going to line you up. We’ll give you a twenty second headstart to find somewhere to hide. Then we will be searching for you. The winner gets to pick what game we play after dinner.” Geralt settles his hands on his hips, thumbs hooking in the belt loops of his jeans.

“The quicker you clear everything away, the longer you’ll get to hide.” Geralt grins. Ciri stamps her feet with a delighted smile, hugging around his waist. He laughs, patting her back. “Come on, cub.” 

Geralt helps Gwen straighten up the heavy tables. He picks up the benches and collects stray rubber bands from the floorboards. 

He looks up as the door to the mess hall opens, nodding to David in greeting. 

“Are we almost done?” David catches Ciri with a grin as she jumps at him. He holds her upper arms as he spins them in circles until they are dizzy. She nods rapidly, giggling as he sets her back on the floor. David staggers into the table, the kids crowding around him. 

“So! You’ve all met Geralt.” David flaps a hand in his direction. 

“He’s my dad!” Ciri chimes in happily, macaroni spilling from her cupped hands as she giggles, Geralt returning her smile. 

“Nice to meet you all.” Geralt struggles to wave, juggling the newspaper balls and rubber bands in his palms.

“Geralt will be helping out where Max can’t for a few weeks.” David says brightly. “So, feel free to hide anywhere around camp, and the woods. Make sure to stay within the borders of the camp though.” David says seriously. 

The kids murmur their agreement, Ciri shuffling the heel of her boot. 

“Will Dandelion visit tonight?” 

Geralt suppresses a smile, remembering the mischievous dryad that lives just outside the camp. He never really forgot him.

“He promised me.” David says seriously. “So we better pack extra marshmallows for the campfire tonight.” David waggles his eyebrows making the kids giggle.

Ciri grabs Geralt’s hand, bouncing on the ball of her feet.

“Dad! Hear that? Dandelion is going to come sing with us tonight!” Geralt hums, squeezing her hand. “Aren’t you excited?” Her eyes are bright and wide.

“You have no idea, cub.” Geralt smiles softly. He was excited, nervousness creeping up. It had been so long since he had seen the dryad, at least seven years since he left the camp and moved to the city to take care of Ciri. 

He loves Ciri more than he ever thought he was capable of, but he always had a space in his heart for the camp. For David, who cried on his shoulder when Camp Campbell went under, the founder was arrested, with $15 million in drug money found in his possession. For Max, who grew up arrogant and touch starved, angry and violent but picked David up off the floor and smacked sense into him. For Gwen, who finally put her law degree to use and won possession of the camp in her and David’s name. For the kids, the ones that cry at night, the ones that learn that they’re not alone, the ones that need to be convinced they can trust the adults to protect them and look after them, the ones that reminded Geralt of Ciri when he found her, scared and alone. 

He had space for Jaskier. The Dryad who didn’t cower away at  _ Witcher _ and didn’t just see his bloodline as one tainted with murder and monster. The fingers that braided through Geralt’s hair and palms that pressed knotted anger from his shoulders. And, in return, Geralt picked rotten leaves from the heavy bone antlers, letting him carefully feed from the surplus of energy from Geralt’s body, sating the Dryad for the next decade, or more.

“Okay, go! One… Two...” 

Geralt blinks startled, Ciri jerking his arm down to kiss his cheek and run out of the mess hall doors as David starts counting. Gwen’s arm slings around his broad shoulders. 

“Ciri hasn’t shut up about you today.” She laughs. She’s grown her hair out, Geralt notices, her bangs falling in her eyes.

“She spent time with Yen before coming here, I haven’t seen her in a while.” Geralt smiles, knocking his head against hers. “How’s Dave coping without Max?” 

Gwen sucks her teeth.

“Nine… Ten…” 

“He doesn’t sleep well by himself. Been talkin’ through _ Doctor Who _ and I really thought he wouldn’t have made it through the night.” Gwen settles a tanned hand on her heart, the dark circles under her eyes giving her statement a sharp edge. 

“Hmm. I’ll handle him tonight.” Geralt watches the man peek out between his fingers at the open doors. “Hey, that’s cheating!” Geralt calls. David chuckles, fiddling with his knitted neckerchief.

“Put sunblock on before you go out.” Geralt goes to the narrow kitchen, taking the bottle out of the cupboard closest to the door. The alien plasters catch his eye, chucking low in his chest. He remembers being 16, the scar of the splinter in the cap of his knee still there today. Young David crouched in front of him, pulling at it gently and lying the plaster over it with a smile, green eyes bright. 

They had become slow friends, Geralt never really found joy in talking to the hyperactive kid that ran the Camp with a shaking fist. The same kid who stuttered through their werewolf problem, who clutched at Geralt’s arm when a howl rang through the woods surrounding the camp, and who never really let go since. 

“Are we at twenty yet?” Geralt shook the bottle of sunblock, chucking it to David. The red head nods, wiping over his face in the sunblock. He rubs the excess into his hands, putting it back in the cupboard. 

“You comin’ with us, Gwen?” David asks as he passes her, crouched on the floor cleaning up macaroni. 

“Rather not. I think I’m gona go fight the raccoon in the kids bathroom since Max isn’t here to do it.” She shrugs. David frowns, thoughtlessly linking his arm in Geralt’s. 

“Well, be safe, won’t you?”

“Get out, David.” She rolls her dark eyes and throws a handful of macaroni at him. He squawks, his shoulder digging under Geralt’s arm as he flinches. 

Geralt huffs, walking away. David clings onto his jacket sleeve, tripping up over his own feet as he goes in efforts to soak up the contact. 

“You go that way, I’ll search over here.” Geralt grumbles, squeezing his arm tight against his side, trapping David’s hand before shaking David off him. “Pull your sleeves down if you’re going to poke in the nettles.” He narrows his eyes, seeing how David was gazing over to the edge of the woods. 

“Yes, okay _ Dad _ .” David sniffs, straightening his shirt out so the dark green tree print on the front laid flat against his chest. 

Geralt turns on his heel, heading down the dusty path to the jetty. He rolls his sleeves to his elbows, following the small trainer prints in the dirt.

The tide was low on the lake, a wooden row boat bobbed as the waves curled around it. There was an innocent blue tarp covering half of the boat. 

He rested his hands on his hips, setting one foot onto the wooden planks. 

“Where, oh where could somebody be?” He muses loudly. The tarp twitched. He sighed loudly. “Well, I’m sure there’s nobody here under that there tarp.” Geralt listens hard, smiling when he hears a sharp intake of breath. 

Creeping as quietly as his heavy boots would allow, Geralt crouches low on the edge of the jetty. He reaches for the tarp, whipping it back. A high, delighted shriek makes him grin, a blond boy drumming his feet on the bottom of the boat. 

“Are you here alone?” Geralt puts on an accusational voice, sticking his hand out for the kid to grab.

“I’ll never tell you!” The boy grips his wrist with both small hands and Geralt lifts him easily over the gap and onto the jetty. 

“I have ways of making you talk.” Geralt keeps a loose hand on the kid’s wrist, raising an eyebrow. The boy holds his gaze in challenge. 

Geralt pokes at the boy’s ribs with his free hand, not relenting when he turns red faced and screeching. 

“Fine- okay! Okay.” The boy pants. Geralt stops tickling him. “Underneath us.” He breathes heavily, collapsing to his knees. 

“Thank you for your help…?”

“I’m Arty.” The kid grins with crooked teeth. Geralt nods his head.

“Good meeting you, Arty. I’m Geralt.” He lays on his front, hanging his head off the edge of the jetty. The wood digs into his chest but he searches underneath, checking each post. 

At the very back of the jetty, bracing his arms between the pillar and the lakebank is a lanky teen. His canvas shoes are wet and his baseball cap has cobwebs on it. 

“Need a hand?” Geralt calls, pushing himself up on his knees. 

“Y’know, that might be helpful.” The kid strains. 

“That’s my brother.” Arty tells Geralt. 

“Oh, yeah?” Geralt shuffles on his knees to the other end of the jetty, Arty walking at his side.

“Great, Art. Now we’ve bloody lost.” The kid stretches a tanned hand out and Geralt grabs his wrist. Arty grabs his other arm, setting his feet and straining to anchor Geralt’s weight. Geralt puts his weight on his spread knees, leaning back into Arty’s support, hauling his brother up onto the jetty. 

“Hey, be nice to your brother.” Geralt pulls the rim of the baseball cap down lower over the kids dark eyes. “I’m Geralt, and I need your help.” Geralt dusts his knees and gets to his feet. 

“Help? My help?” The teen frowned. 

“Yeah, you heard me. What's your name?” Geralt starts to head off the jetty. 

“Carter. Wait, slow down.” He scrambled to catch up, Arty grabbing at his arm. 

“I need the two of you to help me out. David has won the past 4 matches of hide and seek by finding more of you than I did-”

“So you want us to help you cheat?” Carter sneers his nose up.

“It’s not cheating if we never had official rules.” Geralt raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Yeah okay. We can roll with that.” Carter purses his lips and nods. “So… just find the others and keep count?”

“Good plan. I’ll see you for dinner.” Geralt touches two fingers to his temple, winking a golden eye when Arty copied his salute with skinny flailing arms. Carter shakes his head, dropping his cap onto Arty’s mess of curly blond hair.

Geralt tries not to jog into the woods, half- skipping every few paces. He could hear the woops off to his side, kids screeching. 

He shakes his head with a smile, passing the wooden stage tucked behind camp. He presses a hand to the table at the very back of the campsite. It’s legs were sunk into the earth, the nick Geralt had dulled his knife deep in the knee, the crack and stains in the top.

Geralt smiles, blunt teeth digging into his lower lip as he picked his way through an overgrown trail. Yellow buttercups littered the floor, a clear indicator, Geralt takes as encouragement to move faster.

He feels almost childlike, jumping over a toadstool, skirting around brambles until the vague trail opened out into a small clearing. A thick oak stump lazes in the centre, sun bathing its old bark, mushrooms circling wildly around it. 

Geralt’s breathing is rushed, his chest tight. He feels his knees give out as the air around the tree stump glimmered and shone. The air punches out of his lungs. 

“Fates beloved! I never thought I'd see you again.” 

He’s beautiful. 

His hair’s longer, curling around his pointed ears. He’s bare chested under a patchwork cloak that wraps around his shoulders. He throws his arms out wide, hooved feet kicking at the air.

“Fate died out with the dragons. I promised you I’d come back.” Geralt grins, his eyes softening. 

He watches the dryad tip his head. He has moss growing on one of his antlers, twigs caught in his hair and his nails are the colour of rust

“You could have given me some warning.” He pouts with pointed teeth, wide eyes bright. “I would have cleaned myself up.” 

“Jaskier, you look fine.” Geralt rolls his eyes, holding out his arms. 

The dryad giggles happily, delicately hopping out of the fairy ring. The magical grace seems to drop from him as he reaches out to Geralt, hoof catching on a root. Jaskier makes a small noise of surprise, Geralt’s hands warm as they catch his elbows. 

“Steady.” Geralt swallows his laugh, sinking his teeth into his lip. Jaskier chuckles freely, eyes bright and wide as he straightens to hold Geralt properly.

He let Geralt's arms wrap tight around his waist, hooves flush against the outside of his knees. Geralt breaths out slowly, his face pressed into the dryad’s stomach, blowing gently in his belly button. He barks out a laugh, long bony fingers tangling in Geralt's hair. 

“How long do I have you for, darling?” Jaskier stands over Geralt, impossibly close, smelling of damp earth and cedar wood. 

“Till dinner bell.” Geralt breathes, Jaskier’s cloak falling around them both. “I have business back in the city, but we plan on spending the summers here.” He pokes his tongue out, tasting the sweat on Jaskier’s skin. 

The giggle he pulls from the dryad makes his chest hurt. 

“I came to invite you to the campfire tonight.” Geralt murmurs gently into his skin. 

“Nobody’s left me anything yet.” He can practically hear the confused furrow of Jaskier’s brow. 

“Nah, it was my idea. Dave’s planned to make some patches tomorrow to leave you, though. Wherever I am, you can be.” Geralt tips his head back to meet Jaskier’s gaze. The dryad trails his fingers over Geralt's face. 

“I don’t want to scare any of the kids.” Jaskier smiles sheepishly.

“They wouldn't come to a camp with a Fae resident if they were scared.” Geralt presses his thumb in the dimple of the dryads back. “Anyway, you need to meet my daughter.” 

“You’re dau- Geralt!” Jaskier pulls him to his feet by his hair. “All this time and you didn’t tell me you had a daughter?” The blue in his eyes has blown, covering the whites of his eyes.

“My brother had her, but I'm her legal guardian. Yen and I have joint custody.” Geralt groans, leaning into Jaskier’s grip. 

“Have you been spending much time with the witch?” Jaskier’s lip curls as he speaks.

“Somewhat, we try and keep Ciri as happy as we can.” Geralt lets the dryad tug his head back by a tight grip in his hair, baring his throat.

“You stink of her.” He sniffs. “Can barely find my magic on you.” Jaskier actually pouts at that. Geralt runs his hands soothingly up his sides, fingers smoothing over the tight curls of his chest hair, cupping his shoulder blades. 

“Sleep with me tonight. Come to the fire, come back to my bed and you can strip me of any false claim.” Geralt smiles when Jaskier ducks his heavy head to Geralt’s bared throat to press a light kiss over his pulse point.

“How could I deny my love when he asks so sweetly.” Jaskier’s tone could sound mocking, but Geralt’s knees are weak and he’s content to let his head loll in Jaskier’s fingers. 

Geralt groans when he hears the faint bell whisper through the trees. 

Jaskier growls a little when Geralt gets his feet under himself, taking his weight out of Jaskier's grip. 

“Can’t you just starve?” Jaskier whines, pulling Geralt close to his chest. 

“Tell you what, if you can not kick up dramatics today, I’ll let you feed tonight.” Geralt quirks an eyebrow. He watches Jaskier bite his lip, as if in thought, but he could tell by how his scent deepened that the dryad already had an answer. 

“I suppose… that’s amendable.” Jaskier hums, pressing a soft kiss to his temple before releasing him. “Go.” 

Geralt suppresses a grumble, taking backwards steps until he reaches the treeline. Jaskier strikes a proud image, cloak open and antlers thick and sharp. Geralt nods his head in goodbye. 

Jaskier’s long fingers touch his lips as he blows a kiss. 

He jogs back through the trees, careful not to trample any wild flowers in his haste. Coming out of the woods, he spots the kids getting to the mess hall. He sees Ciri on Carter’s back, her knees tight at the Mexican's sides. There’s a ginger girl next to them wearing Carter’s hat, Arty swinging their joined hands.. 

Geralt catches up to them with a whistle.

“Hey dad!” Ciri chirps.

“Hey, cub. What are we at, boys?” Geralt greets them with a wink. 

“We found these two and three others.” Carter reports, his fingers touching his temple in a salute. “Gwen’s gona be mad if we don’t hurry up, Art.” 

“But my shoe is untied.” His brother wails, falling to his knees to tie it. The girl crouches beside him, helping him.

“C’mere.” Geralt bends his knees next to them, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “How ‘bout we show them how to hurry?” Arty’s face lights up. The girl pulls the hat tighter over her head, nodding.

“You can’t carry both of us.” She keeps her voice low so Carter can’t hear them.

“El, this is Geralt.” Arty rolls his dark eyes. “If he can fight dragons, he can carry two kids.” 

“I’m almost an adult.” She mutters at the same time Geralt says “We don’t fight dragons.” 

As Carter huffs and starts heading to the mess hall, she climbs on Geralt's back, her thin arms tight around his neck. Geralt scoops Arty up and starts an easy run.

“Don’t drop my kid.” He jeers childishly as he passes Carter. Arty whoops in his arms, Ciri squawking in protest. El laughs in his ear, her knees digging hard into his sides as he runs. 

“Loser!” Arty cries as Geralt sets him on the ground. Carter sticks his tongue out, Ciri slipping off his back. 

“Had a good game, cub?” Geralt winks at her as he bends his knees for El to climb off his back. 

“It was going great until somebody cheated.” She points an accusing finger at him.

“It’s not cheating if there were no rules set to begin with!” Arty pipes up. Geralt raised an eyebrow, ruffling a hand in the kid’s hair. 

Carter slings his arm around El’s shoulders as they head inside. 

“Geralt!” David calls from the kitchen doorway. His green eyes are sparkling and the grin on his face is gleeful. Geralt does a quick head count as he passes through the hall, stopping to help Gwen fold out another table by the serving hatch in the kitchen wall. 

“What’re the scores, Campman?” Geralt raised an eyebrow, washing his hands in the kitchen sink. 

“I found eight kiddos.” David bumps his hip against Geralt's. Flicking water at the redhead, Geralt catches his wrist. 

“And fell out with a bramble bush while you were there?” He frowns, turning the pale arm to follow the series of thin scratches to his elbow. 

“No! Well, yes but it wasn’t my fault.” David forces a smile. 

“Which one of them was it?” Geralt let go of his wrist, passing him some paper towels. David dries his wrist and the specks of water over his face. He sighs, leaning against the counter. 

“Ethan is being difficult, he had a bad night and I shouldn’t have tries to push him into joining in-”

“David.” Geralt lent next to him, letting him rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder. 

“Max would have handled it for me.” He whispers into Geralt’s jacket. 

“Yeah, but he’s not here so you’ve gotta do it. I’m not doing it for you.” Geralt pushes David into standing, guiding him to the door. “Go and talk to him.”

He rolls his eyes as David nods, fiddling with his neckerchief. He checks the oven, lifting the lid off one of the large pans to stop it bubbling over. Gwen rested her forearms on the ledge of the serving hatch. 

“Good day, then?” Geralt counts out plates, setting them within Gwen’s reach. She sighs, reluctantly pulling the plates towards her and puts them on the table closest to the hatch. “That good, huh?” He huffs to himself, straining the vegetables. 

“Yeah.” she rubs at one of her eyes with the back of her hand. Geralt presses his lips together in a tight line. 

“You don’t have to do the fire tonight, you know. Get some extra rest.” Gwen smiles tiredly at him. 

“Yeah, okay.” Geralt nods, satisfied and checks in the cupboard for desert. He counts the box of cakes, pulling one free from the container. 

“Back in a second.” Gwen rolls her eyes at him and waves her hand. Geralt huffs a chuckle, half-jogging through the hall, pressing his free hand to David’s shoulder as he passes. 

He rounds the back of the mess hall, stopping when he gets to the weather worn table. Setting the cake down, he casts a wide look into the tree line. 

“Here. See you later.” He tells the wind. He smiles warmly at tree trunks, knowing the wind will carry his message. 

The food has been plated up by the time Geralt sits at the back table, feet knocking into Gwen’s. The kids are already eating, but David and Gwen drum the ends of their forks against the table until he slid into the plastic chair and smiled at them both.

“You should have started without me.” He laughs. David tuts, spearing a piece of broccoli on his fork and pointing at him. 

“Eat before it gets cold.” 

The mash and meat are bland, the vegetables watery but Geralt enjoys every mouthful. David tells them avidy about how one of the girls had found a hollowed out trunk and wiggled her way into it, how David circled her tree for  _ ages, Geralt, I thought an animal was trapped!  _

Once everyone has finished, some of the older kids having seconds, David pulls out the box of chocolate cakes. 

“As the winner of hide and seek, Rae, bring your table up first.” David cheers. Geralt shakes his head, sharing a look with Gwen. The tired bruises under her eyes seem to make the indigo stand out. 

“Go to bed, Gwen.” Geralt sighs, knocking the heel of his boot against her ankle. She stretches her arms out with a grunt, tightening her ponytail. She smiles weakly, draining her cup and getting to her feet.

“Handle the campfire yourself.” She snags a cupcake out of the box as the second table lines up to collect their dessert. 

Geralt watches her as she leaves, a few of the younger kids waving to her as she goes past them. David’s eyes seem to follow her, a small frown playing on his face before he sucks in a breath and holds the box of cakes lower for a short kid to reach in. 

Once the kids are set up at the tables with snakes and ladders, of all the things to choose, Geralt doesn’t understand why Rae picked  _ snakes and ladders _ , David sits back at the table with a cupcake in hand, the empty tub chucked behind him through the serving hatch.

“I thought there would be eno-”

“There was, I gave mine to Jaskier.” Geralt hums, hooking his ankle around the leg of David’s chair to drag it closer to his own. “Shut up and eat your cake.” 

David nods, wiping the icing off the cake with its wrapper and sinking his teeth into the sponge. He ends up with smudges of chocolate on his sunburnt skin, despite his best efforts. Geralt snorts, shaking his head. 

“Alright! Are we almost done?” Geralt asks the room. He’s met with nods and a few non-committing grunts. “Enthusiastic response.” Geralt sighs with a bored tone. “If we’re all really that tired, I better save the campfire for another night.” He faux yawns, stretching his arms above his head.

Geralt smirks at the sheer uproar. Hands drum on the tabletops, feet kick at the floor. 

“Okay, okay! Message received.” Geralt holds his hands up, climbing to his feet. “Go get washed up, meet me at the fire pit in, say, 20 minutes? Make your beds ‘n stuff!” He calls after them as the kids scramble out the door. 

“Thank you for being here.” David murmurs, scooping icing from the wrapper with his index finger. “I know I’ve been annoying Gwen, but I don’t know how to deal when Max isn’t here.” 

Geralt collects up any stray cups and plates from the tables that had been forgotten, rolling his eyes as David rambles. 

“Hey, I don’t care why you need me.” He shakes his head with a chuckle. “You asked and I’m here. Simple as that, Campman.” Geralt swipes the last piece of David’s icing with his free hand, the wrapper sticking to his tongue as he heads in the kitchen.

“Oi, Geralt! Don’t eat the paper.” David whines as Geralt chews the icing from the wrapper, his hands busy stacking the dishwasher. “Ew, you’re so gross.” The red head sniffs.

“Call Max.” Geralt garbles, paper sticking to his back teeth as he takes packets of marshmallows and chocolate biscuits from the cupboard. 

“Yeah, okay.” David smiles shyly. “I’ve barely spoken to him today.” Geralt spits the wrapper in the bin as the camp counsellor muses, the dial tone ringing faintly. 

_ “And here I thought you were forgettin’ all about me!” _

Geralt huffs a chuckle, the New Jersey accent sharp and clear for his Witcher hearing to pick up. 

“Of course not, Max!” David’s green eyes are wide, cradling the landline in one hand as he leans against the wall. “How are you feeling today?” 

_ “The doc tried to nick more of my blood and I’m damn sure they don’t need it- Fucker wanted me to sign up for the blood drive! Can you fucking believe the nerve?” _

“Max, I hope you didn’t talk to them like that!” David’s cheeks flush as he throws a scandalous look over his shoulder to Geralt.

“The pain meds any good?” Geralt calls through.

_ “Oh, man you have no idea- Hold the fuck up! You forget my birthday but can be up here the day after Davey calls you? Fuck you, asshole!” _ Max could definitely sound heated if he wanted but Geralt could hear the chuckle in his voice.

“Didn’t forget. Calm your shit, it’s in my bag.” Admittedly, the card is a folded sheet of A4 paper with _“Happy 23rd asshole”_ with twenty three butts drawn on the front, balloons coming out of the cracks. Ciri had been delighted to colour them all in.

Geralt packs the smores stuff in the empty cake box, squeezing David's shoulder as he starts towards the door.

_ “Yeah, ‘course it is, just like my tibia doesn’t have three metal screws in it. Fuckin-” _

“I’ve gone!” Geralt calls over his shoulder, letting the door close behind him. He could just see the sun behind the tree tops, bathing them in an orange light. Geralt rubs his palm over his bicep as the wind skates over his bare arms. Huffing, he realises he left his jacket over the back of his chair in the mess hall. 

As he sets the box down on one of the seating logs, he can hear soft wind chimes carried by the breeze. Smiling softly to himself, Geralt crouches by the stone ring, the actual fire pit half a foot deep in the ground. He evens up the layer of ashes over the dirt and starts stacking kindling in a teepee shape. He lights it with a small whisper of  _ Igni _ ,

He hears footsteps behind him, barely turning his head to see Carter and a few other older kids, blankets wrapped around their shoulders. 

“Hey, man.” Carter smiles widely. His friends and himself take up one of the logs in front of where Geralt is crouched. 

“You guys have a good day?” Geralt grunts, sitting back on his knees. 

“Yeah, actually.” A blonde girl crosses her ankles, tucking her blanket higher as a cheerful gust of wind passes. “We don’t play games like that often.” She holds her hand out towards him. “I’m Ava, this is Carter. That’s Daz-” She points to a dark kid, his hair in tight braids, “And that’s Ellie.” She knocks her shoulder against her friends, knocking her sunglasses off the top of her head. 

Geralt hums, reaching to shake their hands. 

“Nice to meet you.” He winks, taking Carter’s hand in his. He does the same with El.

“Yeah, the pleasure is mine.” Carter says seriously, shaking his hand deftly. They chat idly as Geralt feeds the fire from the untidy wood store. 

More kids fill up the logs, their pyjama bottoms tucked into hiking boots or rolled up above trainers to stop the dirt sticking to the hems. Ciri flings her arms around his neck, squeezing him in an awkward hug.

“Hey, cub.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head. She tucks into his side, blanket draped over her shoulders. Arty slides in next to her, tugging the corner over his knees, a hoodie over his pyjama top.

“He’ll be back tomorrow but needs over a month to heal.” David pats Geralt’s shoulder, skinny hips barely fitting on the log the other side of him. Geralt hums, opening the packets of marshmallows, passing around skewer sticks and the packets of cookies. 

“Hmm.” Geralt wraps a heavy arm over the redhead’s shoulders, clad in a familiar black jacket. “I’ll stay for as long as the city permits.” Geralt closes his eyes briefly, imagining the paperwork stacking up on his desk back in New York. 

“That’s too kind, Geralt. We can’t pos-”

“David, if you’re about to tell me I can’t co-counsel a damn summer camp, I will put you in the fire.” David met his eyes sheepishly, the gold glowing in the flame. 

“I- Okay.” David slumps into his side, holding out his skewer for the fire to brown. 

“Are we going to sing tonight?” One of the younger kids asks through a mouthful of cookie.

“Nah, kiddo. Not with David. He’s tired. Will a story do you?” Geralt crunches his own biscuit, smiling at the scattered cheers he got.

“Okay, what’s a good one I know?” He ponders, wiping crumbs from the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. Ciri’s little fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Death and Destiny?” She whispers, stretching in her seat to reach his ear. 

“Are some of you too old to hear about old folktales?” Geralt teases, meeting Carter’s eyes across the flames.

“Never!” The teens shout, drumming their heels. David’s eyes shine at their energy, his hands clasped together.

"Alright. This is indeed a story of death and destiny, of heroics and heartbreaks.

“Just after the Great War, the fall of Cintra herself, the remaining mages and Witchers alike realised the earth would not stand another battle like this one. Mother Earth's soil was rich with the brave and the foolish of the fallen and her air was being breathed by an unsteady alliance of peace. The mages could feel the magic fields in Mother Earth shift and threaten to snap in her core. The fae met the amount of distrust that humanity had in mages, but the fae have a history of chaos and mischief, one that kept humanity from accepting them.

“It was from a long, begrudging meeting that between themselves, the mages, the Witchers and the fae reached an accord. Mother Earth wove the fae’s magic into the very creation of her world, only to have it sullied at the hands of mages. Of Witchers. 

“The fae prince proposed a deal.

“Now, the fae prince, kiddos, cannot be described near justice with mortal words. He shone as pure as the very sun herself, glowed like the moon and every breath clinked like wind chimes in his lungs. The prince had never longed for the power a king wields. He is a poet, an artist, a romantic at heart, who had followed his muse to the very Edge of the World. He was famous, his bardic prowess known all through the lands. This prince is nothing if not loyal and wanting. 

“To become one with Mother Earth, to meld with the ground his beloved walks on, to become the air his family breathes, the prince gave everything he had. He gave his wings, a portion of his magic, a section of his very existence to bind with Mother Earth. He gave his freedom. 

“The prince sank into the crust, stretching his magic into her core and felt for every impurity in her soil. Each one was extinguished until all that was left was mankind itself. The prince has spent close to three centuries, two generations of Witcher at his side, cleansing every creature and grain of earth with his bare hands. You’re probably wondering what happened to the prince, at the end of all this, hmm?

“To be honest with you, kiddos, he’s still doing it. Every day, a new creature is welcomed into this world. Every single one of you was welcomed with a soft touch of his magic, to keep your hearts pure. The prince is redemption for mankind, gifting you with a heart as pure as his to start your life with. The prince is an extension of Mother Earth now, tainted with immortality, his skin as smooth as heartwood, antlers growing from his skull as naturally as branches do from the trunks of trees.”

“Doesn't the prince get lonely?” One of the kids whisper, words catching on the flames. 

“Well, lucky for the prince, a Witcher is just as good a conversationalist as an oak tree. The Witcher’s still look after the prince, honouring their alliance even all these years later. They keep the prince fed off their enhanced energies- one feed can last the prince almost near a century if needs must.”

“You know a lot about the prince.” Another kid smiles.

“I do, don’t I? You know a fair bit about him too, you know.”

“Come on, Ava. Am I really that forgettable?” A heavy, bony weight rests on Geralt's shoulders. 

“Dandelion!” The kids drum their feet, waving their marshmallow roasting sticks above their heads. 

“Hello, my dears.” Jaskier giggles from somewhere above Geralt, his forearms digging in his shoulders. “Gorgeous night, don’t you agree?” 

Ciri’s hands clutch at Geralt’s wrist, crumbs around her mouth as she stares up in awe. Geralt smiles reassuringly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

“You’re just as beautiful as the stories make you sound.” She breathes. Her eyes are wide and honest, Jaskier’s nails dragging over his shoulder to the back of his neck. 

“Ciri, manners.” Geralt murmurs, pulling his marshmallow out of the fire. He crushes it between two biscuits and holds it above his head. Jaskier makes an appreciative sound, taking it from him. 

“Destiny beloved, it’s wonderful to meet you!” Geralt doesn’t need to see the dryad’s face to know there's a wide grin splitting his mouth. Though he can’t stop the small smile tug at the corners of his own mouth. 

Ciri giggles, one hand letting go of Geralt to shake Jaskier’s. 

“You must indulge me in these stories sometime.” Jaskier sounds delighted, his hooves pattering on the grass. 

“Almost three centuries old and still needs a bedtime tale before the moon settles.” Geralt tuts, rolling his eyes at the fire. David smacks his thigh, a horrified gasp escaping his mouth.

“Geralt, the children!” 

“Yeah, Geralt. What kind of example are you setting for the children?” Jaskier dances around the ring of logs, shaking hands of the braver kids, producing daisies and buttercups from behind their ears. 

He has flowers and leaves hanging from his antlers in vines, swaying with every turn and tip of his head. Geralt hums, his hand gentle on Ciri’s back as she slides off the log to push her skewer further into the fire.

“Hey, careful. You’ll burn it.” Geralt pokes her side, shuffling along the log to give David a little more room. The redhead stays pressed close and warm in his side.

Geralt holds his own skewer out to the flames, loaded with four marshmallows. He shakes his head with a sigh as Jaskier starts chatting animatedly, hands flailing and bouncing on the toes of his hooves.

“Okay, you’ve had a story. How about a song?” Geralt asks when there's a lull in their babble.

“Yes! Oh, please children, allow me to play for you?” Jaskier clasps his hands together over his chest. The cheers and yips from the kids make his cheeks flush with praise. “Oh, you have no idea how long it has been since I’ve had such a beautiful audience. There’s only so many times a blue jay will listen to you sing before she gets irritable.”

Jaskier pulls a lute from the inside of his heavy cloak. Geralt sighs, the fizzy scent of magic soon fading into the soft cedar wood of the instrument.

_ “Awake, awake, you children bold _

_ Take hold of all your books and fold  _

_ The corners, they warned us a storm is coming on _

_ What do you mean you’ve lost  _

_ Your scarlet welly boots, do y’know what they cost? _

_ Wear a raincoat or it’ll soak you to the bone” _

Jaskier dances around the logs, all delicate fluid steps, hooves trotting softly. His lips are stretched in a gleeful smile, fingers slender and strong, gripping the neck of the lute. The light catches on the hollow of his throat, seeming to make his skin glow. 

Ciri leans against Geralt’s shins, passing him two biscuits from the tub. He passes a s'more to David, eating the remaining marshmallows straight off the skewer. 

“ _ What’s it like, the children ask? _

_ It’s just like falling snow, I am above you _

_ And I love you, don’t you know…” _

“And I love you, don’t you know?” The words are a rumble in his chest as Geralt bends low to whisper to the top of Ciri’s golden head. 

“ _... That I’ll be with you all along, as long as you are kind _

_ To those who are not strong and cannot find their scarlet welly boots _

_ ‘Cause when it’s cold _

_ I’ll wrap my scarf around you _

_ And when it’s hard _

_ I’ll place your head into my hands…” _

Geralt lets himself relax as Ciri rests her head on his knees, Arty curling up on the log beside him, head pressed against Geralt’s thigh. Ciri’s sticky fingers twist in the denim of his jeans. David’s head is on his shoulder. Geralt can’t help but hold his friend tighter as he smiles against Geralt’s neck. 

Geralt watches lazily as Jaskier falls back into his showmanship like a second skin. The antlers seem to weigh nothing as the dryad clops around, spinning and giggling with the kids, pinching Carter’s nose in a breath of a pause. 

As Jaskier’s song comes to an end, Geralt speaks low, tossing his skewer in the fire to rest his hand on the top of Ciri’s head.

“It’s late.” He watches as the kids start to shuffle, blankets being pulled tighter around shoulders, boots scuffing in the dirt. “Go on, off to bed. The lot of you.” He strokes through Ciri’s hair a little, stirring her. 

“Night, Geralt. Night, Dandelion.” Arty yawns, climbing into Carter’s lap to be lifted. Ellie secures the blanket around Carter’s shoulders, stretching her own arms out. 

“Yeah, night.” Carter grins as they step out from the circle. Ellie gives a shy wave, Ava’s arm linked with hers. Geralt watches the other kids chuck their skewers onto the fire and head back to their cabins.

“Come on, Cub.” Geralt presses a kiss to Ciri’s forehead, her little arms winding around his neck. “I know, I’ll see you in the morning.” David gets up, stretching his arms above his head. When he relaxes, the shoulders of Geralt’s jacket hang low on his own, the slightly too long sleeve covering his hand as he rubs at his eyes. 

“You gotta make sure Dave doesn’t trip over in the dark.” Geralt whispers, her giggle sweet against his shoulder. He rubs a hand down her back, squeezing her close before releasing her. 

“Kay, dad.” She yawns with a small noise, making Geralt’s chest ache.

“Sleep well, Princess.” Geralt blows her a kiss as she takes David’s hand. Geralt watches Jaskier from the other side of the dying fire, the sound of crackling wood and receding footsteps breaking the silence between them. 

Geralt rests his elbows on his knees, tossing more wood on the fire. He holds his hand out through the wisps of smoke as it crackles and sparks. 

“Such a gentleman.” Jaskier’s eyes seem to glow in the firelight, a glint of sharp teeth as he smiles. His nails are sharp as they drag across Geralt’s palm, fingers curling around his. Jaskier hops over the flames, cloak floating around him. 

Geralt tips his head back to stare up at the dryad. Jaskier’s fingers stroke across the familiar slopes of Geralt’s cheekbones, thumbs resting on the corners of the welcoming curve of his mouth.

“Did you want to find a warmer place to rest for the night?” Jaskier asks softly. Geralt hums, shaking his head. 

“My bed is near the door and there won't be room to walk past the couch either. As long as you keep me warm.” He quirks an eyebrow, lip curling under the pad of Jaskier’s thumb. 

“Of course, my darling.” The dryad steps away from him, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he smiles.

Jaskier settles against the log, patting the ground between his spread thighs. He unfastens the cloak from around his shoulders. Geralt sighs, watching the firelight catch on the hollows of his collarbone, the dip in his chest, the bumps of his ribs. 

“Gods, Jask.” Geralt chokes out, his hands reaching for the dryad. A pit in his stomach began to form, seeing how much energy Jaskier must have used in the years since he’s been gone.

“Hey, no.” Jaskier coos gently. “None of that, darling. There was a little disturbance a way away, just a bump I had to flatten out.” Geralt tries not to let it worry him, Jaskier’s fingers lace in his and tug him closer.

Geralt sits between his raised knees, letting the dryad cage him against his chest with bony arms and the heavy cloak that was spread out over his lap. Jaskier smooths the fabric up Geralt’s chest, guiding his head to rest on his shoulder as he shuffles to get comfortable in the cradle of Jaskier’s body. 

“Alright, love? We have all night.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” Geralt murmurs, catching Jaskier’s hand in his to press a kiss against his palm. 

He lets his eyes close as Jaskier begins to sing, the words more of a low rumble Geralt could feel in his chest. He finds the small pull deep under his skin and focuses on it with a sigh.

Over the years, Jaskier had found his energy with increasing ease. He no longer needed to prod and encourage it out of his bones, for it came willing and freely. 

Jaskier hums. His mouth is open against the side of Geralt's head, pressing soft kisses between wordless sounds.

He sinks into the dryad, a small gasp escaping his lips. Jaskier sings softly in his ear, hands threading through his hair, skating over his chest, dipping across his stomach. Wherever he could reach, they anchored each other as Jaskier drank in his energy.

“ _ Sleep. _ ” Jaskier whispers, a hiss in Geralt’s ear. The cloak was heavy and soft, Jaskier’s pull was steady, slightly slower than the rate his Witcher stamina could regenerate his energy.

He drifts, occasionally aware of soft touches to his face, the tight press of hooves against his splayed knees. He cracks an eye open, what feels like weeks later, only for Jaskier’s palm to cover his face. 

“Shh, you know you don’t like seeing.” Jaskier hushes him kindly. Geralt grunts, knowing he’s right.

He had seen it once or twice, the way Jaskier’s eyes slit, rich blue flooding the whites of his eyes. The way his pointed tongue hangs out of his mouth, hands curled into claws. He didn’t mind how natural his dryad looks. 

The way Jaskier’s full stomach takes root in the earth, the grass thriving around them, buttercups springing up. The way the log behind them, felled for months, finds new life. It almost scares him. Jaskier’s sweet and soul filled voice could carry through the Earth and bring old, wilted things to life. He could run his fingers over the most decayed parts of a tree stump, the most infected roots and with a whisper of a wish, they bloomed.

Geralt breaths through his nose, blinking against the tight palm over his face. He imagines the bark strengthening, planting itself firmly into the ground. How it has had hours to grow new branches, thin and weak but leaves will bloom at their joints. 

If he focuses, he can feel rough bark around his ankle, knowing they are surrounded by the branches. He relaxes further into the dryad, knowing the log will have warped and grown with Jaskier’s gentle melody. 

He’s roused a long while later, cracking twigs and branches as juniper berries and snow mingles with damp earth and cedar wood. He can’t help the smile that twitches his lip as he feels Ciri kneel at their side. 

“He looks like sleeping beauty.” 

“Do you think he needs a kiss from a princess to wake him up?” Jaskier’s voice is light and teasing. He can feel the sun on his face as Jaskier waves his arm, the branches falling away. 

He lazily opens his eyes as Ciri presses a small kiss to his cheek. Her grin is wide and bright as he wraps an arm around her waist to pull her on his chest. Jaskier’s giggle mixes with Ciri's shrill laugh, the dryad’s arms holding them both in the space between his knees. 

“Good morning, my princess.” Geralt brushes a stray hair from her face. The rest of her golden mop is pulled back behind her head, tucked in the hood of a familiar jumper. “You been through my bags again?”

“Nope!” Ciri pops the ‘p’ as she tucks herself more comfortably in his arms. “I took this one from your wardrobe months ago.” Jaskier giggles, his fingers stroking down the sides of Geralt’s face, feeling his smile. Geralt barks out a laugh, Jaskier’s nails catching on the edges of his lips. 

“Hmm.” Geralt rolls his eyes as she butts her head under his chin.

“How come I can’t steal from your wardrobe?” Jaskier demands from behind him. 

“Dad said you don’t like shirts, they’re too tight.” Ciri recites. Geralt squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the excited twitch in Jaskier’s knee as it bumps him. 

“Talk about me much?” His thin fingers prod Geralt’s cheek. 

“Every night!” 

“We should go to breakfast, cub.” Geralt grunts. 

“Gwen’s gona ring the bell for me.” Ciri smirks. Dropping his head back on Jaskier’s shoulder, Geralt groans low in defeat.

“So, princess? I suppose you’ve heard the dramatic telling of the first adventure I ever embarked on as a daring young troubadour. The Edge of the World, at the mercy of the king of Dol Blathanna!” Jaskier's hand splay out in front of them, fingers flexing in his gestures. 

“In fact, that’s the one I haven’t heard enough.” Geralt curses under his breath as Ciri’s eyes shine with mischief. She sits up to face them, pulling the cloak over her legs as she gets comfortable in the space between Geralt's legs. 

Jaskier conjures his lute, a from inside the cloak, arms stretching around Geralt to pluck at the strings.

“Jask, you really don-”

“Ah, but I must! The lady hath requested, the lady shalt receive.” Jaskier giggles, gleeful as Geralt groans. 

_ “When a humble bard graced the ride along _

_ With Geralt of Rivia, along came this song…” _

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading, maybe leave a comment and tell me what you think?   
> if i messed anything up let me know!  
> duno how to link but my tumblr is bloodyjacksparrow if u ever wana find me


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